


Anchors fics

by Vinnocent



Series: Heroes and Wolves [18]
Category: Animorphs - Katherine A. Applegate, Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Ableist Language, Blood and Injury, Dreams and Nightmares, F/M, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Panic Attacks, Personality Swap, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-04
Updated: 2020-07-04
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:46:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25059469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vinnocent/pseuds/Vinnocent
Summary: As everyone recovers from the events of the darach saga, Sheriff Stilinski hunts down clues to a cold case; Scott, Stiles, and Allison suffer the after effects of their ritual deaths; and Cassie struggles to reign in curiosity and rumours.
Relationships: Scott McCall/Stiles Stilinski, Vernon Boyd/Erica Reyes
Series: Heroes and Wolves [18]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/117640
Kudos: 3





	1. Home Improvements

**Author's Note:**

> Uploaded from Tumblr (ani-wolf.tumblr.com). I am not currently writing new fic.

“You have never held a hammer before, have you?” Dr. Deaton asked as Marco struggled to nail down the new ashwood baseboards.

“Not on purpose, no,” Marco grunted.

“I could do all of this, you know,” Deaton informed him. “I don’t actually tire.”

“Yeah, I mostly just need something to– SHIT!” Marco cried as he bent another nail. He sighed, dropped the hammer and lay back on the floor. “Okay, fuck it. I’m not a handy person. We can all just accept this. If I keep trying, all I’m gonna make is Swiss cheese.”

Deaton smiled and motioned for Marco to sit up. “Come here,” he said, and, with another sigh, Marco sat up again. Deaton handed him back the hammer. “First of all, hold it toward the bottom of the handle. Hold it slightly loosely. Good. Now, like this.”

“Hey, Doc,” Scott interrupted, and they looked up to see him standing in the doorway with an arm full of long boards slung over his shoulder. “Where do you want me to put these?”

“I think the kitchen is the next room, if you don’t mind,” said Deaton, and Scott nodded and headed off.

Marco raised an eyebrow. “That is a _strong_ kid,” he said.

Deaton looked at him skeptically. “I thought you were told?” he said. “About the lycanthropy?”

Marco looked up at him, surprised. “I thought that was a joke!”

Suddenly, there was a clatter from the kitchen, and Marco was on his feet. But Deaton reached out, quick as a flash, and grabbed Marco’s arm to stop him. “Hey,” Deaton said calmly. “Scott just dropped the wood. There’s no screams. No growls. No scary things. So you’re going to walk in there _calmly_ to check on him, and you will not morph until and unless it is deemed necessary.”

Marco just stared at Deaton, confused. Then, he realized that the arm Deaton was holding was covered in gray-brown fur. Marco closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and released it. When he opened his eyes, the fur was gone, and he nodded stiffly to Deaton.

Deaton released his arm, and Marco walked, calmly, toward the kitchen. He poked his head in through the open doorway and found Scott standing over the dropped pile of lumber with his back to the door. His body was rigid. His hands were clenched tightly at his sides.

And there was blood dripping out from his palms.

Marco closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and released it. Still there. Deal with it, then. _Calmly._

Marco stepped forward. “Scott?” he asked quietly.

Scott jerked in surprise, then glanced back over his shoulder. He was breathing hard. His hands were still clenched.

Marco stepped closer again, reached toward him. “Can I…?”

Scott looked down at his still-clenched fists. He hesitated, then nodded once, just slightly.

Marco came over to his side and took Scott’s right hand. Carefully but firmly, he pried the fingers open. “Whoa,” he said, more at the sight of long, thick, sharp claw-nails than at the wounds they had left in Scott’s palm. He glanced up at Scott’s confused and scared face. “Werewolf claws?” he asked. He couldn’t think of a real animal that grew claws in that fashion.

Scott nodded.

Marco nodded. Okay. So. That was a thing now. He looked back at the wound. Already, it seemed slightly less gorey. He led Scott by the hand over to the sink to wash away the blood. His instinct had been right; the wounds were healing fast. In an hour, there’d be no sign it had ever happened.

“How are you so calm?” asked Scott.

Marco laughed. “I am very, very not calm,” he muttered. He released Scott’s hand and reached for the other one. The claws had already disappeared and all that was left was to wash the blood off the wounds. “But if there’s one thing I can handle, it’s cleaning up blood.”

“Are you going to tell Mom?”

Marco glanced up at him. “You gonna tell me what happened?” he asked. When Scott hesitated again, he explained, “Look, you don’t have to. I’m a stranger. It’s weird to tell me your personal shit. But if you don’t tell me or her or Cassie or Deaton or… _someone_ who’s not Stiles, I’m gonna have to.”

Scott looked guiltily down at his hands. “I lost control,” he admitted. “The pain helps with control.”

Marco raised an eyebrow at that. “You change when you panic?” he asked.

Scott nodded, and Marco laughed. Scott pulled away angrily. “Glad to know my problems are so amu–“

“One time, I morphed a gorilla-trout by accident,” Marco said quickly. Scott turned back to him. “A couple days later, I went spider-skunk. Because of panic attacks. Not because of war or pain or threats to people I care about. But because my dad was getting married again. To my math teacher.”

Scott was staring. “But… But grandpa doesn’t have a wife,” he said quietly.

“No,” said Marco. “She, uh… She died. For real. Her name was Nora. And she was killed because I was stupid.”

“How did you learn to control it?” Scott asked.

“I didn’t,” Marco told him. “I stress-morphed right up to the day I left. Stress-morphed all over Kelbrid Space.” He glanced aside. “Dad took you away, the first time I held you, because I was growing claws. Because the first thing I thought when I saw your face wasn’t how beautiful and loved you were, but how squishy you were. How much you needed to be protected. Because the world is scary, and it was going to kill you.”

Scott scowled. “So you’re saying that it doesn’t ever get better?” he demanded, anger boiling up again, though he wasn’t sure at who.

Marco looked at him again. “What I’m saying,” he told him, “is that everyone freaks out sometimes. It’s normal. Even if it’s morphing or transforming, it’s still normal.”

“If I lose control of this wolf, it could kill someone,” Scott said.

Marco shrugged. “It could,” he agreed. “You won’t.” He moved away from the sink and toward the door. “Get the blood off the floor and your shoes before it stains. Melissa’s not an idiot.”

– –

“So, in the dream, I’m _having_ a dream, but it’s a fucking nightmare,” Stiles was telling Scott as they headed into school. “I don’t even remember the first one. I know I ‘didn’t want to let them in,’ but who was them? Into where?”

“And then you woke up?” asked Scott.

“Then I woke up in a fucking _locker_!” Stiles exclaimed. “I had to beat my way out of it! It _hurt_ , man!”

Scott turned to him, horrified. “What, really?” he asked. “How did you get in there?”

“I don’t know; it was a dream!”

Scott groaned and rolled his eyes. “Dude, you could be a little more specific,” he said.

“Dude, you could listen to a whole story before commenting,” Stiles countered. He continued up the path from the parking lot. “Anyway, so I’m in the locker room, and I leave there. And I find the door to the chemistry room open, and I go in there, and _there_ is the fucking tree. The fucking nemetode thingy. It’s just sitting there, but the room’s a disaster, like the tree fought it’s way in? I don’t even know what the fuck. But then the stupid fucking stump grabs me, and I scream, and then Lydia wakes me up, and she’s in bed with me.”

“What was she doing in your bed?” Scott asked, confused.

“I don’t know, dream stuff,” said Stiles. “Also you can never tell her that.”

“Okay, so Lydia woke you up, but she was a dream, too?” Scott recapped.

“Yeah,” said Stiles. “But I didn’t know. So I was telling her about how much these dreams sucked when I realized, hey, I’m not fucking Lydia, and even if I was, neither of us are dumb enough for sleepovers. And right when I realized that, the closet door opens. She doesn’t want me to close it. She wants me to go back to sleep. But I… I like _have_ to close it. I’m afraid someone will come in?”

“From the closet?” Scott repeats.

“Yeah, I know, right?” Stiles said. “And the closer I get, the more scared she gets. She starts _begging_ , desperate for me to leave it alone. And when I get to the door, I end up going through it. And you know what’s there? THE GODDAMN NEMETIN!”

“Ssssh!” Scott warned, darting a glance around. Then, suddenly, he became distracted, watching something carefully.

Stiles didn’t notice, continuing to rant about his dream. “And then all these lights come on, like I’m on the field or something. And I know it’s a dream, so I’m trying to wake up. And then I feel like the world is starting to come apart until I finally do wake up. Dad tells me to go to school. I do. I tell you all about it.”

“Right,” Scott said, nodding as they finally arrived at the entry doors.

“And then we talk about sleep paralysis and post traumatic stress and how scary it all is…” Stiles continued.

Scott stopped in the middle of the hallway, the gears in his brain coming to a screeching halt. “Wait, what?” He turned to Stiles, confused.

“Yeah, exactly,” said Stiles. “I woke up from _that_ , too. Screaming, for some reason. Took Dad ages to get me to stop.”

Scott was staring at him with an open mouth. “ _That_ was a dream?” he gasped.

“It’s all a dream!” Stiles ranted. “Everything’s a dream! For all I know, this is a dream!”

Scott scowled. “Now you sound like Marco,” he said, squirming slightly.

“Yeah, that’s a comforting thought,” Stiles groaned, continuing on to his locker. “I now share something in common with the guy who spent his every evening _dying_ for fifteen years.” He came to a sudden stop again, his eyes wide open. “Oh god, and now it’s just occurring to me that we _did_ die, briefly, in those tubs, and that I have every reason to have the same outlook on life as he does, which would be that I don’t have one anymore.” He spun toward Scott. “We have to fix this before I become your father, and what the _hell_ do you keep staring at?!”

“I… uh…” Scott glanced aside, again, at the mysterious thing. “You don’t see it?” he asked. “Nothing’s happening to me?”

“I don’t see what?” Stiles demanded. “And, yeah, something’s happening to you; you’re flipping out.”

Scott shook his head. “No,” he said, taking a deep breath. “No, I’m okay.”

“No,” said Stiles. He looked over his friend carefully. “No, you are definitely not okay. It’s happening to you, too, isn’t it? You’re seeing things.”

“It’s happening to all of you,” said Lydia as she joined them, dragging along a reluctant Allison by the hand.

“Is… that why you’re dressed like that?” Stiles asked, squinting at Allison’s Testament t-shirt, loose jeans, and heavy boots. Allison looked down at herself like she had no idea what the difference was.

“It’s her goth phase,” said Lydia, and Allison rolled her eyes. “Just ignore it until it goes away.”

“Well, I think you look nice,” Scott offered helpfully.

“I care why?” Allison countered.

Stiles stepped back as though a punch had been thrown. “Whoa. Wow,” he said. “And I thought _I_ wasn’t getting enough sleep.”

“It’s not just that, either,” Lydia insisted. She hit Allison in the arm, then gestured to Scott and Stiles. “Tell them what you told me.”

Allison was looking at Lydia with a bored sort of exasperation. “Why?” she asked. “You’re the smart one.”

Lydia made a noise of frustration, stamped her foot, and gestured so emphatically at Allison that Allison was forced to step out of the way of the flying hand. Unfortunately, that was also when the bell went off. Scott scratched his neck, suddenly feeling a lot more nervous. “Why don’t we talk about this at lunch?” he suggested. “Meanwhile, I can see if anyone else is having problems.”

Lydia sighed exaggeratedly. “Okay, fine,” she said, taking Allison’s hand again to lead her away like she couldn’t be trusted on her own. “But if she’s being haunted by her dead aunt, I’m outtie. You’re all on your own.” She pulled Allison away toward class. “No more dead people for Lydia Martin!”


	2. Hold the String a Different Way

“Okay, so,” Lydia said, taking a seat at one of the picnic tables outside, which was just short enough on accommodating seven people to excuse Erica sitting in Boyd’s lap. Somehow, he managed to pass off her cuddling as casually as though she wasn’t even there. Unfortunately, Isaac and Stiles were flanking Scott and Allison was still extremely anti-social, leaving Lydia to sit next to the couple and be repeatedly “accidentally” kicked by Erica. Luckily, Boyd finally took some pity on her, and Lydia heard him whisper to “sit still or find a chair.” “What’s the crazy report?” asked Lydia.

“It’s only the people who went in the tubs,” Isaac reported. “Boyd and Erica and I are fine.”

“Well, didn’t Scott’s boss say it was going to do things to them?” said Erica.

“It was going to leave a mark on our souls,” Scott recounted.

“And send a signal to every scary thing in the world, telling them how awesome it is to live here,” Stiles added.

“Okay,” said Lydia. She pointed to Scott and Stiles. “Have you two been as weird as her since this morning?”

“I haven’t been weird,” Allison said at the same time Stiles asked, “In what ways has she been weird?”

“She keeps forgetting her class schedule,” Lydia tattled, while Allison exasperatedly shook her head and insisted Lydia was exaggerating. “She fires her bow like a novice. _And_ she forgot her mother was dead.”

“That one’s you,” Allison said, jabbing a finger at Lydia. “I saw Agrona this morning.” Again, Lydia gestured to her emphatically, and Allison began to realize that everyone was staring. “What?”

“Agrona’s your grandmother,” Scott said slowly. “Victoria was your mother.”

Allison shifted uncomfortably. “Yeah,” she said. “I know. Isn’t that what Lydia said?”

“Allison’s also normally a better liar than this,” said Lydia.

“What was it you said earlier about her dead aunt?” Stiles asked.

Allison rolled her eyes and sighed. “This morning, I left the house, and when I walked out the front door, I walked into the morgue. I had no idea what I was doing there,” she explained. “One of those… those corpse cabinets… It was open. The door was ajar. I went over to it, and I saw Kate’s name on the label. So I looked in.”

“As one naturally would when a corpse cabinet is left open,” said Isaac.

“I’m confused,” said Boyd. “Who is Kate?”

“Allison’s aunt,” Scott said the same time that Stiles said, “A total psychopath.” Lydia rolled her eyes and answered, “She was Allison’s aunt, and she was the one who burned down the Hale house years ago… with Hales inside. When Peter eventually recovered, he went on a murder spree hunting down her and everyone who had helped her. Also any poor innocent who accidentally got in his way, such as _me_. He then clawed her throat out, and she died, obviously.”

“You don’t look dead,” said Erica.

“ _Attempted_ murder is actually a crime, believe it or not,” said Lydia.

“Oh is it?”

“Okay back to the point,” Stiles interrupted. “What happened when you woke up?”

“I didn’t wake up,” Allison said casually.

That had their attention. “What do you mean you didn’t wake up?” Isaac demanded. “You actually went from your house to the morgue?”

“I doubt it,” Allison said. She took a bite of her burger, then added, “When I looked inside, there was a big long shaft. And Kate was at the end of it, filthy, crawling up like a spider, and screaming at me.”

If it was possible to stare more than they already were, they would have done so.

Allison took another bite and shrugged. “Which obviously scared the piss out of me, so I ran. When I went through the doors, I walked into school.”

“So when did you wake up?” Stiles repeated.

“I told you,” she insisted. “I didn’t. Or at least there wasn’t a ‘waking up’ experience. When I was at my house, I was awake. When I got here, I was awake. Between must have been some kind of… hallucination?”

“So you’re saying that you got in the car and drove here while believing that you were in the morgue being screamed at by your dead aunt?” said Stiles.

Allison nodded. “Basically.”

“Which route do you take here?” Erica asked.

Allison thought about that. “Um… I don’t really remember the street names,” she admitted. “Why?”

“Because I want to never be there again,” said Erica, and Boyd bit back a laugh. Allison, again, rolled her eyes.

“She has a point,” Scott said. “If that happens again… Something could happen. Something real. This is getting dangerous.”

“Dangerous like walking around the forest at night after hearing that half a corpse had been found there?” Allison countered with a particularly venomous sneer, and Scott blanched. He pulled back from the table a bit and looked down at his barely touched food.

Stiles was much less passive in the face of her aggression. “Dude, what the _fuck_ has gotten into you?” he demanded.

Allison shrugged and stood, taking her tray with her. “I guess I’ve just begun to see how utterly useless it is to try to wring advice out of animals,” she said.

“WHOA!” Boyd cried as Erica scrambled off his lap. As she attempted to leap the table, claws and teeth bared at Allison, Boyd grabbed her around the waist and wrestled her to the ground. “Hey! Stop! Not here!” he demanded, but Erica was still growling angrily.

Allison just sneered again. “Nice job illustrating the point, Fluffy,” she laughed. She dropped her tray in the garbage and headed back toward the building.

“I’M GONNA RIP YOUR HEAD OFF!” Erica screeched.

Lydia was blushing so hard she nearly matched her lipstick. “I…” she said. “I’m sorry, I don’t…”

“She’s just feeling bad,” Scott said quietly. “When we figure this out, fix her along with Stiles and me, she’ll go back to normal.”

“This _is_ her normal,” Erica snarled, from the ground, where Boyd was resolutely sitting on her stomach until she calmed down. “She’s a hunter, Scott. She _kills_ us. Yes, when people are stressed out, they say things they wouldn’t normally say. But it’s still things they feel. That animal shit? You think she could do what she does if she ever saw us as human? As real people?”

“Allison’s never killed anyone,” Scott countered, though he was still looking down at his food.

Erica shoved at Boyd, but he just shook his head at her. So she folded her arms across her chest and lay back against the grass. “She will,” she told Scott. “You watch her; she will.”

“Tomorrow, when you go to work, you can talk to Deaton about it,” Stiles suggested gently to Scott.

– –

“Um, hey, Allison!” Scott called as he hurried to catch Allison on her way back to her car after school. “Hey!”

Allison paused and looked back at him. She pushed her hair behind her ear. “Oh, hi, Scott,” she said.

He slowed to a jog and came to a stop in front of her. “I… I don’t want to bother you, but…” he started.

Allison shook her head. “You’re not bothering me,” she told him.

He nodded. “Okay. I, uh, I just…” He rubbed his neck nervously. “I was wondering if you were mad at me about something? Because if I can make it up to you, I–“

“Why would I be mad at you?” Allison asked, squinting at him.

“Um, I… I’m not sure,” he admitted. “It was just what you said at lunch…”

“About Kate?” she asked. “That’s not your fault.”

“Uh, no…” said Scott, confused. “Af… After that?”

Allison thought back. “I was talking about the hallucination with Kate. I got frustrated that everyone was being sidetracked by the driving thing, like I wouldn’t have chosen not to if I’d been in control. And then I…” Her eyes went wide. Her hand flew to her mouth. “Oh god, Scott! I’m sorry! I don’t know why I said that! I didn’t even realize that I did!”

“It’s okay!” he assured her. He grasped her shoulders, trying to regain her focus. “It’s okay! We’ve all been weird.”

“Can you tell Erica…?”

“I’ll try,” said Scott, “but she’s Erica. I think, until we fix this, maybe we should just keep you separated.” Allison nodded at that. “Do you want to get a ride with Tyler?”

Allison shook her head. “No,” she said. “No, he can’t know.”

“What? Why not?” asked Scott.

“Because he’ll tell Agrona, and she’ll worry,” she said.

“Allison, _I’m_ worried,” Scott pointed out.

She just shook her head again. “Please, Scott. Just… Let’s see what Deaton says first?” she pleaded.

Something didn’t feel right, but Scott decided not to push her. He’d be talking to Deaton tomorrow. It could wait until then, right? “Okay,” he agreed. “What about Lydia? I’m worried something could happen to you if you drive yourself.”

Allison sighed and pulled out her phone. “Alright,” she agreed. “I’ll call Lydia.”

“You want me to wait here?” he offered.

She shook her head. “No, you’re expected home,” she said. “It’s okay. I know Lydia will come get me. I’ll tell Dad the car was acting weird.”

“Okay,” Scott said again. “If you’re sure.”

She nodded. “I am,” she assured him. They hugged briefly, and then she watched him go before she dialed up Lydia.

“Hey, Allison,” Lydia answered. “I’m kind of driving right now. Is it an emergency?”

Allison stared at her phone, confused.

“Allison?”

“I… I’m sorry,” she said. “I think I called by accident. Sorry to have bothered you while driving.”

“It’s fine,” said Lydia. “We’ll talk later.” She hung up then.

Allison stared a moment longer, then shook her head. After putting her phone away again, she got in her car and started it up.


	3. Start Again

“You know, the last time we brought one of these to her grave, it was stolen the same day?” Stiles asked as he set of bouquet of white and pink flowers on the sheriff’s desk. “One hundred bucks down the drain.” It wasn’t that he didn’t want to spend a hundred dollars on his mother, but he did wish her presents would actually stay with her.

It was then, of course, that he realized the sheriff wasn’t _at_ his desk. He was behind it. On the floor. “Uh, hey, Dad?” Stiles asked. “What’re you doing down there?”

The sheriff glanced up at him. “Hey, if somebody wants flowers that badly, they can have them,” he said, returning his attention to the files strewn across the floor. “It’s the gesture that counts.”

But Stiles had forgotten about the flowers. “Hey, Dad, what is all this?” he asked, pointing at the papers.

“I’ve been looking over some old cases from a more… illuminated perspective,” he said. He looked up at his son again. “If you know what I mean.”

Stiles picked up the file on the box nearest him. “Car was crushed when it ran into a small woman who was rescuing a dog. Woman and dog not found,” he read.

The sheriff pointed to one of the stacks on the floor and said, “Chee pile.”

Obediently, Stiles tossed the file onto the appropriate stack. Surprisingly, it was the smallest one. “Dad, you’re not going back through all your old cases, seeing if any of them had to do with the supernatural… are you?”

“I admit that the recent ‘opening of my eyes to the greater mysteries of the universe’ has got me…” The sheriff searched for the phrase he wanted. “… _reassessing_.” He pointed down at the files. “There are at least a hundred cases here where I can look at the details and I can ask myself, ‘If I knew then what I know now–’”

“Right,” Stiles interrupted. “But are you sure you wanna go down that path?”

The sheriff looked him in the eye then. “Do I have a choice?” he asked. He returned his attention, again, to the files. “There’s one case in particular that I can’t get out of my head.” He picked up the file and stood. “Eight years ago, when I was elected sheriff of the county, my first official duty was to tell a man that not only had his wife and two kids died in a car accident, but…” He let Stiles take the file from him to look it over. “As best we could tell, the body of his nine year old daughter had been dragged from the wreck by coyotes.”

Stiles looked at the photo of the little girl, smiling and innocent and having no idea of how her life would end. “You mean dragged and eaten?” he clarified.

“We didn’t find the car until three days after the crash,” said the sheriff. “They had driven off the road into a pretty deep ravine. The two bodies that were still in the car were covered in bites and slashes.”

“So you’re thinking bites and claw marks… probably a werewolf attack?” Stiles asked, glancing up from the file.

“Yeah,” the sheriff admitted. “Maybe.”

“But coyotes, they scavenge, right?” said Stiles. “Couldn’t they have just left the bites and the slashes?”

“Absolutely,” said the sheriff. “But guess what night the accident occurred on?” He reached forward and pointed to the date in the file.

Stiles glanced down again and did a quick calculation. “Night of the full moon,” he said, and the sheriff nodded. With a grimace, he closed the file again and looked for somewhere to put it. It was then that he noticed several boxes behind the sheriff. And the label they were marked with. “Dad, where are all these going?”

“Uh, yeah…” said the sheriff. “Well, yeah… We probably need to talk about that.”

– –

The next day, in economics class, Stiles seemed spaced out. He hardly even said anything to Scott when he entered and sat down. He took out his notebook and started writing. “Stiles?” Scott asked. But he got no reply.

“Alright,” said Finstock. “Question on the board.” He pointed. “You’ve all had the entire sitting down time to think about it and discuss. What is the difference between GDP and GNP?” Greenberg raised his hand, but Coach had sighted a student who wasn’t paying attention. “How about you, Stilinski?”

Instead of popping his head up like a meerkat, as he usually would in such a situation, Stiles just kept on writing in his notebook.

“Hey, Stilinski!” Coach shouted. “Are you paying attention back there?”

Still nothing.

Finstock turned to Scott. “What’s wrong with him?” he demanded.

“I…” Scott shrugged helplessly. He reached over and jabbed Stiles in the arm. “Stiles!” he hissed in warning.

Stiles just kept writing. Someone next to him looked at his desk and started snickering. Fed up, Finstock took out his whistle, and Scott shoved his fingers in his sensitive werewolf ears just before Finstock decided to blow the whistle long and hard in Stiles’s face. Stiles blinked up at him. “STILINSKI!” Finstock shouted again, just for good measure.

“Uh-huh?” Stiles asked, still blinking like he’d just woken up.

“I just asked you a question,” said Finstock.

“Sorry, Coach,” Stiles said quickly. “What was it?”

“Oh, it was ‘Stilinski, are you paying attention back there?’” Finstock repeated, and Stiles blushed.

“Oh,” he said. “Well, I am now.”

“Stilinski, stop reminding me of why I drink,” Finstock growled. “Every night… Does anybody else wanna answer the question on the board?”

Stiles saw then that Scott was watching him worriedly. He swallowed. “I’m okay,” he lied. “Just fell asleep for a sec.” He returned his attention to Finstock at the front of the class but was still keenly aware of Scott’s eyes on him.

“Dude…” Scott whispered. “You weren’t asleep.” When Stiles looked at him, confused, Scott glanced pointedly toward Stiles’s notebook.

Stiles looked down at his notebook to find two words written, in huge block letters, scribbled in furiously.

WAKE UP

– –

“Try the Mongolian draw,” Lydia suggested.

Allison turned to glare at her.

“What?” she said. “I read.”

“Well, I guess I don’t,” said Allison. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Lydia raised an eyebrow. “You won championships without knowing multiple draws?” she asked.

Allison shrugged. “Maybe I wasn’t that good,” she muttered as she raised her bow again. “Maybe my competition just sucked more than I did.”

“Okay, hush,” Lydia chastised. “I’ll have none of that.” She stepped forward and stroked Allison’s shoulders. “Just close your eyes. Close them.” Sighing, Allison obeyed. “Okay,” Lydia said in her most soothing voice. “Now imagine the arrow… going into the target…”

Allison groaned as she leaned into Lydia’s hands. “The target’s not what I want to get into,” she grumbled, and Lydia laughed behind her. Smirking, Allison opened her eyes and turned to Lydia.

But Lydia wasn’t there anymore.

The forest had darkened, and Allison was alone with her bow and her arrows. Except that she _wasn’t_ alone. Someone… Someone else was in the forest with her.

“Give her back.”

Allison spun. Raised her weapon.

“Give her back!”

Allison turned again. She could see a shape in the distance, running through the trees.

“ _Give her back!_ ” it called.

“No!” Allison objected, turning back and forth as she tried to aim the arrow at the intruder.

“Go away! Go away and give her back!”

“Never!” Allison screamed, her lips curling ferociously, as she cowered with her bow raised.

Movement to her left. She spun, and found herself facing Kate. Deranged, dirty, dead Kate snarling and lashing out at her. “ _GIVE HER BACK!_ ”

“ _SHE’S MINE!_ ” Allison screamed back. She dropped the arrow and swung the bow at Kate’s head like a club.

Kate caught it. Snarled.

Then, Lydia screamed. Allison woke with a snap, blinking at the scene around her. Her bow was inches from Lydia’s head, held back by the yellow-eyed Erica. Lydia stopped screaming.

“Uh…” Allison pulled the bow away from Erica and lowered it, though she wasn’t quite ready to give up her only weapon. “I… Thanks?”

Erica sniffed, checking Allison’s scent. For what, Allison didn’t know. Erica glanced between the two girls. “Maybe I was wrong,” she admitted. “Whatever issues _we_ have, I know you’d never attack _her_.” She nodded to Lydia for emphasis.

“Did you just try club me with your bow?” Lydia demanded.

Allison looked down at her bow. “I, um… I thought you were Kate,” she admitted.

Erica made a face of disgust. “You started thinking that _after_ you offered to get in her pants, right?” she said.

“Allison, what the _hell_?” Lydia shouted. “You’re an expert archer! Why would you club _anyone_ with your bow when you had an _arrow_ in your hand?!”

Erica and Allison were both staring at her. “ _That_ is what you have issue with?” Erica demanded.

“Sorry,” Allison repeated, though she wasn’t quite sure for what anymore. “Good thinking with the banshee scream.”

Lydia blushed and fidgeted slightly. “I, um,” she stumbled. “I didn’t do that on purpose. You… You should probably keep an eye out for a dead body.”

– –

Stiles rambled off various theories to Scott as he fidgeted with his locker. After dialing up his locker combination, he was surprised to find that the lock wouldn’t release. He looked down at the lock in his hand, but the numbers had been replaced by strange symbols. He examined the lock. Ran his fingers over the symbols.

He closed his eyes and waited a moment, then looked again. The numbers had returned to normal. He supposed that was an improvement.

He became aware of the fact that Scott was breathing heavily next to him. He glanced up to see Scott leaning against the lockers, his eyes burning bright red. Stiles felt panic rising in his throat. “Whoa, dude! Your eyes!” He quickly glanced around to see if anyone was seeing.

Scott was confused. “What about them?” he asked.

“What about them?” Stiles demanded, hissing the words in an urgent whisper. “They’re starting to _glow_!”

“What, like right now?”

“Yes, right now!” Stiles insisted. “Stop! Scott, stop it!”

Scott’s breathing got heavier, more desperate. “I can’t,” he insisted. He ducked toward the lockers and covered his eyes. “I can’t controll it!”

Stiles knew he was going to regret the kiss an instant before he did it. But he did it anyway, grabbing Scott by the shirt and trying to pull him away from the lockers. Scott, however, pushed him back against the lockers again. There was a growling beginning to emerge from somewhere deep inside Scott, like there was an abyss between his lungs and he was breathing the dark things in there directly into to Stiles. He kissed Stiles harder, more aggressively, like he intended to consume him.

Stiles was barely fighting down his own panic. When he’d thought the kiss was a bad idea, he hadn’t thought it was _that_ bad of an idea. He pushed back at Scott’s shoulders to no avail. He twisted his head suddenly to the side, but while that released his mouth, it didn’t release him from Scott’s attention. If he didn’t get out of this soon, they were going to have detention for the rest of their lives. “Scott, you have to stop that, too,” Stiles insisted in a barely-not-squeaking, barely-not-screaming voice. “That wasn’t the plan.”

“What plan?” Scott breathed against his neck.

“The plan where I use making out with you as an excuse to hide your eyes until we can get to that empty classroom over there,” Stiles rambled quickly. “You know, like in the movies.” He tried shoving Scott’s shoulders again.

“I don’t care about my eyes,” Scott snarled as he nipped along Stiles’s jaw.

Oh… That’s not supposed to be hot. Shit. Dammit. Okay, Scott’s being… being wolfy. Getting one hormone mixed up with another. So the question was how to snap him out of it. And the answer was so blatant that Stiles could hit himself. “Scott, stop,” he snapped with cold certainty. “I don’t want to.”

Scott’s lips froze on his neck. After a moment’s hesitation, Scott moved to look at him, eyes still burning bright, wearing a weird mix of confusion and “kicked puppy.”

Stiles swallowed. “I don’t want to?” he repeated with much less certainty.

Scott backed up a whole step almost instantaneously. Confused, he looked around like he was trying to get his bearings again, but Stiles quickly reached out and pulled him back. “No, don’t look around,” Stiles hissed. He eased away from the lockers, fearing that Scott might get distracted again. “Keep your head down. Look embarrassed.”

“I _am_ embarrassed,” Scott mumbled, allowing Stiles to pull him along by the hand toward the empty classroom. “I can hardly think!”

“Yes, perfect,” Stiles said. He darted glances around the hall, then checked the classroom before pulling Scott inside. As he slammed the door shut and checked through the window that no one was coming after them, Scott pulled away toward the middle of the classroom.

When Stiles turned back toward him, Scott was still breathing heavily, practically growling out raspy breaths as he stumbled through the desks. “No, get back!” Scott cried as Stiles came toward him. Stiles hesitated. “Get back away from me!”

“Scott, it’s okay!” Stiles tried to assure him.

Scott turned to him. “I don’t know what’s going to happen!” he insisted through a mouth full of sharp teeth that definitely hadn’t been there a moment ago when he’d been sucking on Stiles’s neck. “Get back!”

And then, before Stiles could object, Scott lifted his hands and balled them into fists. As claws extended from his fingertips, blood poured from his palms and trickled down his wrists. Scott cried out in pain. He growled viciously. But, finally, he began to calm down, and his werewolf features melted away until all that way left was a very human boy on the floor with bloodied hands.

Stiles put his things down on the floor and moved, cautiously, toward Scott. “Scott… what…?”

“Pain,” Scott gasped, looking on the verge of tears. “The pain makes you human.”

Stiles dropped to his knees in front of him on the blood-splattered floor. “There are so many other things that make you human,” he whispered. And, knowing he was going to regret it, he kissed Scott again. This time gently, slowly, for the right sort of reasons.

Scott kissed him back. After a few moments, hands began to travel, and Stiles was thoroughly aware of the blood that was being smeared over the back of his neck and through his hair and across parts of his t-shirt. But… if he couldn’t share Scott’s pain, then maybe he could share some of the smaller burdens.

And, at that thought, something deep inside him ached over the idea of being able to take Scott’s pain and, even deeper, at the idea of causing it.


	4. Bardo

“Okay,” said Scott, again at the lunch table with Stiles, Isaac, Boyd, Erica, and Lydia. Allison, apparently, didn’t think it wise to rejoin the group in the same place where she’d last offended them. “So what happens to people who have a near-death experience and come out of it seeing things?”

“And is unable to tell what’s real or not,” Stiles added.

“And is being screamed at by dead people,” Lydia added.

“Eichen House,” said Boyd. They all turned to look at him, and he raised an eyebrow. “It’s the local psychiatric hospital? What, you never heard the horror stories?”

Stiles snapped his fingers. “Right! I remember now!” He turned to Scott. “I don’t want to do that.”

“Why is there blood in your hair?” Erica asked, reaching across the table to pull at Stiles’s hair.

He swatted at her angrily. “Dammit! I thought I got rid of it all,” he grumbled.

“When are they _not_ bloody?” Lydia asked. “I used to think these morons had started a fight club.”

“Is that what the school thinks of us?” asked Stiles.

“The rumors have gotten a lot more varied since then,” Lydia told him. “Right now we’re all participants in some kind of witchcraft orgy involving a lot of drugs.”

Boyd made a face. “It’s disturbing how much I can see that,” he said.

“Right?” said Lydia.

“Okay, but seriously,” Isaac interrupted. “There has to be a connection at least between dying and hallucinating dead relatives, right?”

“Are you guys talking about bardo?” All six of the teenagers sat at the table turned their attention to the girl who had suddenly appeared next to them. She blushed. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t help overhearing what you were talking about.”

“Who are you?” Erica asked, squinting in confusion.

“Kira,” Scott answered, prompting everyone to turn their confusion toward him. He blushed slightly. “She… She’s in my history class.”

Kira was slowly reddening. “You… you weren’t talking about bardo, were you?” she realized.

“We are now,” Lydia purred. She shoved her hips into Erica’s in order to create more space on the bench, though it was really only half a seat since Erica refused to budge, instead opting to glare at Lydia for daring to touch her.

“What’s bardo?” asked Boyd.

“It’s, um, it’s a Tibetan word,” Kira explained quickly. “It literally means ‘in between states’. The… the state between life and death.” She hesitated, then took the half-seat next to Lydia, setting her books down on the table.

“So, are you talking bardo in _Tibetan_ Buddhism, then?” asked Lydia. “Or Indian?”

Kira shrugged self-consciously. “Either, I guess? But that stuff you were saying, about dying and seeing people… It sounded like bardo. I mean, I thought it did. I realize now that it sort of sounds like a lot of things…”

“No, this is interesting,” Boyd insisted. “What else do you know about bardo?”

“Um, well…” She thought for a moment, then explained, “There are different progressive states, where you can have hallucinations. Some you see, some you just hear. And you can be visited by peaceful and wrathful deities.” She was grinning as she described it, happy to share an interest.

“Wrathful deities?” Isaac repeated. “And, um, what are those?”

Kira shrugged again. “Well, um, some I guess you might call demons? ‘Entities’ might be better. They’re not always gods…”

“Demons,” Stiles repeated. He glanced toward the rest of the group to read how they were taking this information. Isaac and Erica looked confused. Boyd and Lydia looked fascinated. And Scott looked like he had yet another massive crush. Just fucking perfect. “Why not?” he quipped, having nothing else to contribute.

“‘Progressive states’ means you’re building up to something, though, right?” asked Erica. “So what’s at the end?”

“Rebirth,” said Kira.

“Into what?” asked Isaac.

Kira shrugged. “Anything?” she said. “It can depend on a lot of things, and there’s not really any way to predict it. But, it’s believed that your experiences in bardo can have an effect. That’s why some people train up for it.”

“How do you train up for it?” Scott pressed.

“I… I don’t know,” said Kira. “I haven’t read about that.”

– –

Braeden was sitting on the currently unused examination table in the surgery area of the vet clinic. “So you can’t read,” she said, pointing to Stiles. “And you keep losing control to the wolf,” she said, pointing to Scott. “And your dead aunt is pissed at you about something,” she said, pointing to Allison.

They all nodded.

“Is this why you stopped studying?” she asked Stiles.

“That, and you’re frustratingly vague on everything and mean when I don’t understand stuff,” Stiles grumbled. “You’re the worst teacher ever.”

“I’m sorry, what are you teaching him?” Deaton asked Braeden.

“How to be Scott’s emissary,” she admitted with a sigh.

“Didn’t Eva ask _you_ to be Scott’s emissary?” he asked.

“Yeah, but I don’t wanna.”

Deaton rolled his eyes toward the ceiling. “Braeden,” he said with great exasperation, “an emissary does not get to _choose_ their pack.”

“Then Mom _definitely_ can’t tell me what to do,” Braeden countered. She hopped off the table and addressed the three teens. “Okay, first of all, I’m an amazing teacher. Secondly, Scott, the wolf cannot haunt you. It cannot possess you. You cannot lose control to it, because it _doesn’t exist._ There is no ‘wolf.’ There is just you and your new biological defect. Your claws, your teeth, your eyes? They’re not something else that’s moved into your body, they’re you. Totally and completely. Your lack of control over it is like… I don’t know. Like falling asleep in the middle of class because you stayed up all night. It’s you, not some sleep monster.”

“This isn’t falling asleep,” Scott insisted. “This could kill someone.”

Braeden snorted. “I doubt it,” she said. “You went red eyes while listening in on this Kira girl’s conversation with her father?” Scott blushed and nodded. Braeden turned to Allison. “He ever go yellow eyes back when you were together?”

Allison blinked in surprise. “Uh…” she said, blushing.

“Uh-huh.” Braeden turned to Stiles. “How about you? They were still red when he was making out with you, weren’t they?” She didn’t wait for an answer before turning back to the increasingly redder-cheeked Scott. “You’re not a danger, Scott; you’re horny. Which, for some people, _is_ as natural as falling asleep. Learn to control your dick, and you’ll learn to control your eye color.”

“Why would that change his eye color?” Allison demanded, not really sure that she believed Braeden’s claim. To her family, eye color _was_ taken as a sign of the monster.

Braeden shrugged, but Deaton guessed, “It may be a mental association. To a lot of humans, especially in American culture, sexual desire is seen as animalistic. Scott’s bite coincided with his first romantic relationship, which I’m going to take a leap in guessing was his first sexual relationship. Clearly, he associates the two.”

Deaton made a helpless gesture to apologize for bringing it up, then said, “There’s also… Well, it’s possible that if Scott had passive desires toward Allison, it would have keyed into the role of a beta. It would make him feel complete in his beta role and made him comfortable enough as a werewolf to accidentally show his eye color. If he has assertive desires toward Kira and Stiles, it’s possible the same thing is happening with his alpha side.”

Allison and Scott exchanged guilty glances. “Uh… Yeah… That’s…. possible,” Allison admitted.

Braeden glared at Scott. “There will be revenge for this conversation,” she assured him. “I haven’t decided _how_ yet, but it _will_ happen.”

Stiles rolled his eyes at her. “Okay, but hormones does not explain the fact that Scott actually _sees_ a wolf. That Allison is being haunted by Kate. That I can’t _read_ anymore.”

Deaton nodded. “Yes, I agree,” he said. “Those instances may, in fact, be related to your recent deaths.”

“That could be subconscious, too,” Braeden said thoughtfully. “Much of dreams is symbolism. Things that mean something to you. Dreams are hallucinations that happen as your brain sorts through all its data and makes sure everything is filed properly and tries to figure out how to file things the right way, often but not always getting caught up on the things that worry you because those are more difficult to file. Dream about you and your best friend trying sell fish? That’s your brain working through feelings about your relationship, your financial security, and how burdensome work is. Nightmare about all your teeth falling out while you talk to someone? That’s your brain working through your worries about how you present yourself and what the effects might be if you fail catastrophically. Waking hallucinations are often different, depending on the reasons why you’re having them, but yours sound an awful lot like dreams, too.”

“Scott would be worried about falling prey to this new aggression he’s experiencing,” Deaton said, gesturing to Scott. “He feels like he’s being stalked by this vicious shadow of himself, so that’s literally what he sees. Allison may be worried about being called to Kate’s path. Or, perhaps, over the fact that a lot has changed since Kate knew her. The response of ‘She’s mine’ may, in fact, be ideal, asserting your desires over Kate’s, though I would like to persuade you to no longer attack Kate physically, since that seems to be a risk to people around you.”

“You’re saying that if I refuse to give Allison back, then Kate will eventually see that I’m Allison?” she asked.

Deaton shrugged. “Maybe. This sort of thing isn’t really a hard science,” he said.

“Well, what about me?” Stiles asked. “What, I’m… worried about my studies?”

“Yet again, Stiles, you’re the weird one,” Braeden told him.

“I think the first thing to assess would be whether or not you were actually told anything in sign language during the hallucination you experienced in Finstock’s class,” said Deaton. “Do you think you can show us the hand movements?”

“Yeah,” said Stiles. “The first move was like this.” He held up his left finger and pointed to it with his right, then move his right finger around it in a circular motion. “Then there was this twice.” He held his hands out, side by side with the palms facing away from him, then pulled his right hand toward himself. “Then there was this in between that,” he said, moving his thumb out from his jaw.

“When is a door not a door?” Deaton asked, surprised.

“ _When is a door not a door?_ ” Stiles repeated, incredulous.

“When it’s ajar,” answered Scott.

“How could a door be a jar?” asked Braeden, earning disbelieving glances from the rest of the group.

With a great sigh, Stiles walked over to the door of the exam room and opened it slightly. “Like that,” he said. “The door is ajar.”

“Oh,” said Braeden. Then, “Wait, then, how is it not a door?”

“Because it’s _a jar_ ,” explained Stiles.

“That’s what I thought you said!” Braeden exclaimed angrily. “That doesn’t make sense!”

“It’s a riddle! It’s not supposed to make sense!” Stiles countered.

“Why would Stiles’s subconscious want to tell him a riddle?” Allison asked, interrupting them.

“Because that,” Braeden said, pointing to the still open door, “is what your brains look like. At least at the time you were ‘visiting’ the Nemeton. It’s possible they still look like that. Or at least Stiles’s does. While you two are looking through the door at yourselves,” she said, gesturing to Allison and Scott, “communicating with your subconsciousness, it’s possible that…”

“That something’s looking back at me,” Stiles whispered, shivering.

“What do we do about it?” asked Scott.

“That’s… difficult to answer,” said Deaton.

“No, wait, I know that look,” Stiles accused. “That’s the ‘we know exactly what’s wrong with you, and we don’t know how to fix it’ look.” Braeden raised an eyebrow at that, then, curious, walked around to get a better look at Deaton’s face.

“One thing I do know,” Deaton continued, ignoring Braeden, “is that having an opening like that into your mind? It’s not good.”

“We need to figure out how to close this door,” said Allison.

“Preferably sooner than later,” Braeden reminded them. “I’ll study up. See what I can find.”

Stiles nodded. “Alright,” he said. “Okay. I’ll… I’ll try to be more helpful… on those days in which I can read.”

Everyone started to head out, but Braeden grabbed Scott’s arm. “I actually needed to talk to you,” she said.

Scott glanced toward his friends, who had paused at the doorway. “What about?” he asked.

“You know now that Eva is an omega,” said Braeden. “That, in itself, isn’t really a problem. Any werewolf in her physical vicinity could detect it. But Marco _can’t_ know.”

Scott blinked in surprise. “But he’s her son,” he said. “I’ve seen the way she acts around him. She adores him.”

“I know,” said Braeden. “That’s why she doesn’t want him to know.” She swallowed, tense, and said, “Because it’s his fault.”

Scott blinked in surprise. “What?” he asked, and Stiles stepped in closer to listen.

“You remember in the scenes the Chee showed you?” said Braeden. “When the goat shoved Eva off a cliff? That was Marco. Eva was… possessed, I suppose you could say. He was trying to save her.”

Scott nodded, remembering what Eva had told Erek in the hologram. “He thought death would free her,” he said.

“It would have,” said Braeden. “If Talia Hale hadn’t been at the bottom of that cliff. She, too, thought she was saving Eva. She, too, was wrong.”

Scott swallowed and nodded. “I get it,” he said. “I think.” He nodded again. “I won’t tell him.”

Braeden nodded and released him. “Thank you,” she said.

As they left the animal clinic, Scott was surprised to see the sheriff’s SUV pull up. He glanced at Stiles, but Stiles only shrugged. Allison and Braeden continued to the respective car and motorcycle (Allison was apparently still driving herself) without paying the sheriff any heed. The sheriff nodded to Allison as he stepped out of the SUV, and she gave him a small wave before getting into her car.

“Dad, what are you doing here?” Stiles asked.

“I’m here because…” The sheriff took a deep breath, readying himself for what he was about to say. “I could use some help,” he admitted. He turned to Scott. “Actually, _your_ help.”

“Why me?” Scott asked, confused.

“Because, eight years ago almost an entire family died in a car accident,” the sheriff said. “One of the bodies, a young girl named Malia, was never found. There’s enough evidence to have me thinking that…” He swallowed. “That a _werewolf_ could’ve caused the accident, and then dragged Malia’s body away. If you could _somehow_ get a lock on her scent, if you could somehow help me find her body, it might provide the missing clue.”

“And what if it was a werewolf?” asked Stiles.

“Well, then, there’s somebody out there who murdered an entire family and still needs to be caught,” said the sheriff.


	5. Ghosts of the Past

The next morning, Sheriff Stilinski pulled up to the Tate house on the edge of town, and Stiles pulled up behind him in the Jeep. He and Scott exchanged nervous glances before climbing out. On hopping out of the passenger side of the sheriff’s SUV, Cassie immediately pulled up her low-cut, skin-tight jeans for the umpteenth time. “I don’t know how anyone wears these,” she complained. “I feel like I’m mooning the entire county.”

“Why _are_ you wearing them?” asked the sheriff, glancing over her outfit of tight jeans, spandex camisole, and tightly-laced combat boots with a mild frown. “You look like you belong in a punk band.”

Cassie blinked at that, then laughed nervously. “Uh, yeah, Marco picked it. Sorry. Anything tight is morphable,” she explained. “The tech mistakes it for skin, and, with some concentration, you can get it to put it back when you morph out, too. Usually, I wear something more comfortable like exercise clothes or bike shorts and a small t-shirt, but people look at you funny when you interview them dressed like that.”

The sheriff turned to Scott. “What happens to your clothes?” he asks.

“Uh, luckily, I can’t turn into an actual wolf,” Scott said, scratching his neck.

“What happened to your badass morphing suit?” Stiles asked.

Cassie rolled her eyes. “Well, I couldn’t tell anyone what happened at the Glen Capri, so it was decided that I couldn’t be responsible with it and should not be using military equipment in civilian situations, so it was taken away,” she told them. “Eva’s working on getting us new ones, though.”

“Wait, what happened at the Glen Capri?” Sheriff Stilinski demanded, suddenly concerned over an event that had already happened.

Stiles fidgeted guiltily. “Uh… Well, Ms. Blake shoved a bunch of wolfsbane powder into Coach’s whistle at some point before the trip, and every time he blew it, everyone got dosed. The werewolves spent the whole night hallucinating.”

“Was that what caused it?” asked Cassie. “Man, I really need to catch up.” She turned back to the sheriff and answered, “Anyway, while he was hallucinating, one of the twins cut my arm off with a power saw. I morphed the arm back, but the suit got damaged.”

The sheriff’s eyes slowly widened as he stared at her. Then, he shook his head. “I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that,” he decided. “Because hearing that makes my life so much more complicated.”

“Probably for the best,” said Cassie. She gestured to the house. “So what’s the plan?”

“You and I are going to talk to Tate,” said the sheriff. “There’s been a new witness come forward who thinks they saw a man attack the van.”

“Um, I’m not a cop,” Cassie pointed out.

“No, you’re a ride-along,” said the sheriff. “Here to learn.”

Cassie pointed to the boys. “And they are?”

“Going around the back to Malia’s room to see if they can get anything with her scent on it,” said the sheriff.

“You’re aware that scents don’t tend to last eight years?” Cassie pointed out.

The sheriff sighed. “Yes, I was guessing that,” he admitted. “But–“

“Especially since he probably goes in there and cries a lot,” said Cassie. “Which means it’s mostly going to smell like him.”

“How do you know he does that?” Scott asked.

Cassie shrugged. “That’s what Naomi does with Rachel’s stuff.”

The sheriff grimaced. “Yeah, that’s… that’s common,” he said. “But I have reason to believe this is werewolves, and I have _no_ other method left to investigate it. So, if you could please…” He gestured toward the house. Cassie shrugged and headed toward the front walk. Stiles and Scott headed into the woods that surrounded the house.

Mr. Tate let them in without saying much. He didn’t even bother questioning Cassie, who was quite obviously not a police officer. While he was on the porch, he grabbed a package that had been left there and led them inside. He put the package down and cut into it, removing a small humane trap. “We have another coyote problem,” Tate explained calmly. “The population is up around here, and they get into everything.”

The sheriff peered at the small cage. “Doesn’t exactly look big enough to catch one,” he said.

“It’s a rat trap,” said Cassie. “You take away the coyote’s food, they go away.”

“Yeah,” said Tate, sounding surprised. “You work with wild animals?”

Cassie nodded. “My father owns a wildlife clinic. My mother used to work the Gardens.”

“The zoo theme park?” said Tate. “I went there when I was a kid, but you couldn’t get to it anymore by the time the, uh… the kids were born.” He fidgeted nervously, but forced himself through the conversation. “It, uh, closed or something?”

“Or something,” Cassie agreed, nodding. “Most people would use a spring trap, though. Why are you electing for the humane option?”

“Well, a lot of clients prefer it,” Tate mumbled, “but it’s not so much about the humaneness as it is about taking the food away. The coyote can eat the mouse out of a spring trap, but not out of these. Spring trap teaches it that there’s easy food there, while with these, the food costs a lot of effort and still doesn’t come to it.” He returned his attention to the sheriff. “I think I’d really like to know what this visit is for,” he said quietly.

“I just have a couple questions, then I’ll be out of your hair,” the sheriff said quickly. Cassie could hear the squeaking of a door hinge in the back of the house, but quick glances toward the sheriff and Tate showed that neither had noticed. “It, uh, it seems we may have some new evidence in the case.”

Tate sat down in a chair at the table. “New evidence?” he repeated uncertainly.

“Possibly,” said the sheriff.

Cassie heard a floorboard creek and quickly cleared her throat. “Um, a new witness has come forward?” she said.

Tate looked confused. “Is… that a question?”

“ROAWR! ROAWROWROWROWR!”

Cassie nearly jumped out of her skin at the sound of the dog barking. Fur began spreading up her back in preparation for a fight. Eyes wide, the sheriff elbowed her sharply. She shot him a glare but demorphed. Slowly.

Tate didn’t notice. He simply turned around in his chair and shouted, “Apollo!” The dog, however, kept barking. “Apollo, shut up! Shut the hell up!”

Apollo decided it was probably a better idea to shut up. A moment later, he was whining pitifully at Tate’s side. Cassie sighed in relief and finally allowed her demorph to finish. “I don’t understand,” said Tate. “What’s a witness got to do with anything?”

“Well,” said the sheriff, twisting his hands nervously. “This witness thinks they saw someone come up to the car, after the crash. They think that this person might have… um…”

“It is _slightly_ possible that a person killed them,” said Cassie. “Not the crash or the coyotes.”

“Murder?” said Tate. “I spent eight years thinking that it was an accident, and now you’re telling me that it could be murder?”

The sheriff didn’t have an answer for him.

“Who the hell would want to murder my wife and girls? My whole family?” he asked tearfully.

“That’s, uh… That’s, that’s what I want to find out,” the sheriff stuttered, struggling to keep up an air of confidence.

“I don’t,” said Tate. “I don’t want to redefine this entire nightmare as an unsolved murder! Just leave me alone with ‘tragic accident.’ I spent eight years getting used to ‘accident,’ not ‘murder.’”

Cassie turned to the sheriff and mouthed, “This was a bad idea.”

“I…” the sheriff struggled. “I… I apologize…”

“ _Just go!_ ” Tate screamed.

Cassie pulled at the sheriff’s arm and nodded toward the door. He let her pull him away. He felt there was something more to say, but he couldn’t think of what it was.

“I’m sorry, Sheriff, Ms. Sosanya,” Tate finally said as they reached the door. “I just… I can’t…”

Cassie froze. Slowly, she turned back to him. Again, hair rose along her back and the sheriff could see her spine shifting, her fingers shortening. She wasn’t even trying to hide it anymore. “I never gave you my name,” she said.

Tate glanced up at her, briefly, guiltily, but he didn’t move from his seat at the table. “Sorry,” he said again, even more quietly.

Cassie eased closer to him, and the sheriff put his hand on his gun. The thing was, he had no idea who he was preparing to shoot. He didn’t know what had put Cassie in motion or why or whose fault it was. “Who am I speaking to?” asked Cassie.

“I-It’s me,” he said. “It’s Tate.”

“Mr. Tate, are you currently hosting or have you recently hosted a Yeerk presence?” Cassie asked, looking around the room with new suspicion.

“Yeah…” said Tate. “I know we’re not supposed to anymore… After all you did to free us. But I…” He started crying again. “I can’t do this by myself. I don’t want to do it by myself. It’s nice… It’s nice to have someone else in control.”

Cassie stopped moving toward him. The sheriff was surprised to see that she was shifting back to human. “Are you saying that you consent to Yeerk manipulation?” she asked carefully, and Tate nodded. “Where is it?” she said. Sighing, Tate began to stand. “No,” she said, remembering Scott and Stiles. “Tell me where it is and stay here with the sheriff.”

“It’s in my room. The second-to-last room down the hall, on the right,” he said, sounding grieved.

Cassie glanced toward the sheriff, who looked confused but still had his gun ready, then ventured down the hall. Scott and Stiles were standing, confused, in the girls’ room. “Cassie, what’s happening?” Scott whispered worriedly.

“Go back to the Jeep,” she hissed. “Both of you. We’ll be out in a few minutes.”

“But what if–”

“Scott, there is no danger to _me_ ,” she assured him. “Nor to the sheriff. But the more crowded it is, the more likely, we’ll have problems. Now, _leave_.” She waited until they retreated through the exterior door of the room. She moved on to Tate’s room. She eased the door open, and there it was. Right in plain sight. A portable Yeerk pool and Kandrona generator.

She glanced around carefully, then advanced toward the pool. She glanced in, but it was hard to see anything in the oily, thick liquid. She placed her hand just above the surface, knowing the Yeerk would sense the warmth and swim toward it. After a moment, it did. She pulled her hand back and squatted in front of the machine’s control panel. Luckily, there wasn’t a lot of variance in Yeerk technology. She was quickly able to check through the usage statistics, the nutrient levels, and both pool and Yeerk health.

Satisfied, she returned to the main room, where Tate was still sitting morosely and the sheriff was still standing in the doorway with his hand on his gun. “Mr. Tate, I have confirmed that you have a single Yeerk residing with you,” Cassie said stiffly. “Of course, I will have to report this to the Pentagon and National Health Service. However, since the relationship is consensual and you believe this Yeerk to be an aid to your mental health, it will not be punished for its presence here. You, however, may have to pay fees for having kept it secret and will need to keep up regular visits with a caseworker to ensure that the situation does not change. You are not authorized to share this Yeerk. You are not authorized to share Yeerk knowledge. You are not authorized to breed the Yeerk. You are not authorized to access any other Yeerks. You are not authorized to own any Yeerk technology aside from a portable pool and single-size Kandrona generator. Am I clear?”

Tate was gaping at her. “But… You mean… You’re not gonna kill him?” he gasped, disbelieving. There were tears in his eyes again.

“No, sir,” said Cassie. “My job is to ensure safe relations between humans and others. I am not a killer. As long as this arrangement is consensual, there is no reason to use deadly action.”

“He… He would,” Tate mumbled, looking at the table.

“Jake Berenson is no longer my commander,” Cassie said stiffly. She headed toward the door. “You _will_ receive a visit from NHS, and, after consultation, you will receive a caseworker. This is the last time that you and I will personally communicate.” As soon as she’d shoved herself and the sheriff out the door, she slammed it shut behind her.

“What was–?” the sheriff started, but Cassie motioned for him to be quiet.

She lead the way back to the SUV, where Scott and Stiles were waiting for them by the Jeep. “Cassie, what happened?” Scott asked. His concern was obvious, but Stiles was watching her with suspicion.

“Nothing,” she lied. “I, uh… I thought it was something, but–“

“He straight up said he was one of these Yeerk things!” Stiles objected.

“You misheard,” Cassie said.

“I didn’t–!”

“Don’t you have a dead girl to find?” she countered quickly, giving him a sharp look.

“Actually, no,” Stiles sulked.

Scott shrugged sheepishly. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I tried as hard as I could. I mean, if it wasn’t so long ago, I might’ve been able to do it.”

“It’s okay,” the sheriff assured him. “It was a long shot.” He glanced back toward the Tate house. “In fact, it was a pretty terrible idea. I think we’ve just made things worse for him.”

“By discovering his ‘yeerk’?” asked Stiles.

Cassie snarled at him. “Stiles, _shut up_ ,” she snapped. “That subject is need to know, and you _don’t_ need to know.” She pointed toward the Jeep. “Go home.”

Stiles turned to his dad, but the sheriff only nodded in agreement. “Go home, Stiles,” he said wearily. “We’ll talk later.” With an angry noise of frustration, Stiles stomped back to his Jeep, threw open the door, and got in. Scott followed more quietly.

Cassie went around the side of the SUV and got into the passenger seat after glancing into the interior. It seemed she did that every time she entered a car. Wordlessly, the sheriff got into the driver’s seat and buckled up. He reached forward to start the ignition, but she grasped his hand, stopping him. She glanced pointedly toward the back window. He watched as Stiles started the Jeep and pulled away.

After a moment, Cassie released his hand. “ _You_ need to know,” she told him. “And you can tell Jordan that. That I’m the one moving for authorized divulgence to you. To do this the legit way, it has to go through someone like her. Not me.”

“And she’ll tell me?” asked the sheriff.

“Maybe.” Cassie watched the Tate house through the window. “If she refuses, let me know. _I’ll_ tell you.”

“But you just said…”

“I know,” said Cassie. “But whatever repercussions may occur are worth it. If there are Yeerks here, then you, as sheriff, need to know the whole story.”

“I admit that I didn’t understand everything you were saying back there, but it sounded like you decided Tate wasn’t a threat,” said the sheriff.

“I did,” Cassie agreed. “Look, the Yeerks… They were the bad guys. The very bad guys. But that was twenty years ago, and… and one of my dear friends was a Yeerk. Her name is Aftran. I loved her.” Cassie smiled slightly. “She’s a whale now.”

The sheriff groaned and leaned back in his seat, rubbing at his eyes with the heels of his hands. “I swear to god, the things you people say sometimes…”

Cassie laughed at that. “Sorry,” she said. “My point is that it’s not really possible for whole swaths of people to be wholly bad. Things just don’t work that way. Tate’s Yeerk appears to be helping him, and I found no evidence otherwise. But, at the same time, he’s clearly not authorized. That means someone is getting Yeerks around illegally. There may, in fact, be a farm somewhere. And _that_ is something that _you_ need to be concerned about.”

The sheriff didn’t really understand what she was saying. Not totally. But… If following the rules was going to finally let him in on the bigger picture, then it wasn’t much to ask.

He started up the car.


	6. The Wild One

“Stiles told me she’s going to fire him!” Scott cried angrily.

“She’s not going to fire him!” Marco insisted.

“Whoa, hey!” Melissa called as she hurried in through the front door. “What’s going on?”

“Special Agent Berenson is gonna fire Sheriff Stilinski,” Isaac repeated from the stairway.

“She’s _not_ going to fire him!” Marco insisted again.

“Jordan’s still here?” Melissa asked, turning to Marco, and he nodded wearily. “Why?”

Marco sighed. “She’s conducting an investigation regarding whether there is a case for impeachment,” he said.

“That sounds an awful lot like getting fired,” said Melissa.

Marco groaned and rubbed his temple. “He’s not getting fired because what they’re holding against him is his actions _before_ he knew everything. Now that he does know most things, there’s no reason for them to fire him,” said Marco. “There’d have to be a new election, and the replacement would probably know even less. They’re just intimidating him to make sure he stays inside the lines.”

“Well, he doesn’t actually know _everything_ , does he?” Scott snapped.

“What?” Marco demanded. “You mean _Yeerks_? So what? And that’s no fault of mine!”

Cassie hurried into the house and slammed the door shut behind her. “I did not just hear from outside the word I thought I heard,” she said, glancing around the room. Isaac took that as his cue to return to his room.

Melissa groaned. “Scott’s just concerned about the sheriff,” she said. “It’s nothing.”

“It’s not nothing!” Scott insisted, still upset.

“Scott, calm down,” Cassie told him in a carefully even tone.

“I _am_ ca–!” That was when he caught sight of his claws. “Oh. Oh no.” He backed up against the wall, breathing heavily. Suddenly, Isaac was coming back down the stairs again.

Melissa stepped forward, motioning for everyone to back off. “Okay, Scott? Honey?” She stepped forward and took his hands. “Come with me.” She lead him around past the stairs, away from Cassie and Marco and Isaac.

Scott leaned against the wall as he began to hyperventilate. He looked like the struggle for control was actually paining him. “Go,” Scott murmured. “You have to…”

“Honey, I’m not going _anywhere_ ,” Melissa assured him. “Now, you told me that you and Stiles worked out how to control this. That you use an ‘anchor’?”

“My anchor was Allison!” Scott cried through the pain of a stifled transformation. “I don’t have Allison anymore.”

“Then be your own anchor!” Melissa insisted. “You can do this!”

Scott whimpered and snarled, still hyperventilating. But, slowly, the teeth and claws finally retracted again.

“Are you okay?” Melissa asked.

With gasping breaths, Scott nodded.

“Okay,” Melissa said, nodding. On a second thought, she pulled him into a hug. “Sweetheart, let me tell you something that no teenager ever believes… But I swear to you, it’s the absolute truth.” Scott looked skeptically at his mother, but allowed her to continue. She held him close to her and told him, “You’ll fall in love more than once. It’ll happen again.”

“I… What if it already has?” said Scott.

Melissa frowned and pulled away so that she could face him. “Then why are you hung up on Allison?”

“Because she hates me,” Scott insisted. “Because…” He leaned back against the wall again, letting his head hit with a thump. “I don’t know if I can do that again. Put everything I want and everything I am on one person.”

Melissa reached out and rubbed his arm fondly. “You can,” she said. “You can put it on the best person. You can put it on you.”

A few hours later, Scott was crawling out of his bedroom window. He made his way carefully across the roof, having learned by now what areas would creak and what tiles were loose. When he got to the end, he hopped off into soft grass, using his lycanthropic instinct to help him land as well as possible, though it did still hurt. When he turned around, Isaac was leaning against the post of the back porch, waiting patiently. “Where ya headed?”

Scott jumped. “How do you do that?” he hissed.

“Quietly,” said Isaac. Then, he repeated, “Where ya headed?”

“I’m, um…” Scott found himself blushing for some reason. “I was going to Stiles’s. To find a dead body. Malia’s… dead body.”

“Malia?” Isaac repeated.

“She’s a little girl,” Scott explained. “Was. Um, her family crashed their car eight years ago and died. Her body was dragged off by coyotes. The sheriff realized it happened on a full moon, and suspects werewolves caused some of the damage. He tried to talk to her dad, who wasn’t in the car, but he just made it worse. I’m… I’m hoping that if I can go back to the crash site, I can find _something_. Then her father can have a body. Bones. Something.”

“And Stiles’s father will look better in review,” Isaac added.

Scott fidgeted nervously. “I swear that’s just a bonus,” he said. “I really do just want to give him some closure. He was really torn up about it, and it just makes me think… If this happened to my mom… I’d want someone to try. Not for me, but for her. Just _try_ to give her some closure. I don’t care if it’s stupid and probably not going to work.”

Isaac nodded thoughtfully. “Well, two noses are better than one, right?”

A sweet, genuine smile spread slowly across Scott’s face. “Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, that would be… that would be great.”

“And four would be even better?” Isaac pressed.

Scott hesitated. “I… I don’t want a pack,”

“Yeah, but you have one.” He was already pulling out his cellphone.

“I… I don’t want to be an alpha,” said Scott. “I like my friends. I don’t want to control you and order you. I don’t want to be Derek or, or… or Peter.”

“Good,” said Isaac. “We don’t want you to be, either.” Then, to the phone, he said, “Hey, man, wanna look for a dead body?”

– –

Lydia gasped and squirmed as Allison kissed her way up that pale stomach, inching the hem of Lydia’s shirt ever higher. When she reached Lydia’s breasts in their fancy, purple, lace bra, she smirked playfully. “Hi,” she said.

Lydia looked back at her with pure terror. “Who are you?” she gasped.

Allison froze. “Lydia, you know me,” she said.

Lydia just shook her head, not once taking her wide eyes off the person in front of her. “Where’s Allison?” she begged.

“I’m Allison,” Allison insisted. “You know that.” She moved forward to touch Lydia’s arm gently, but Lydia pulled away from her touch. “You can feel that.”

“I feel like I’m going to scream,” Lydia cried.

“Lyd–“ Suddenly, Allison was yanked backward by a cord around her throat. She was pulled up into a sitting position, her back against her attacker.

“No!” Lydia shrieked, backing up against Allison’s headboard. “No, you can’t! You could kill her!”

“It isn’t murder,” Kate whispered in Allison’s ear as she tightened the garotte around her throat, “if it’s an animal.”

Allison awoke with a start. She was still in her bed, in her room, but Lydia was fully clothed on the other side of the bed, passed out on her trigonometry book. With a groan, she decide to go find something caffeinated. She threw her legs over the side of the bed and knocked over Stiles’s aluminum baseball bat.

– –

“You know, if my dad’s right, that means there’s another werewolf in town that we haven’t met yet,” said Stiles as the group followed Scott throught the forest as he navigated toward the wreck with an app on his phone.

“Well, then, let’s introduce ourselves,” Erica purred.

“If it turns out to be something like triplets, forming into like a three-headed hound of hell? I am seriously not up for that,” said Stiles.

The betas exchanged glances. “But it’s not going to be, right?” Isaac asked Scott.

“I am all for running from three-headed werebeasts,” Scott agreed.

“But not any other kind of werebeast?” Boyd teased.

“All the kinds of werebeasts,” Scott said with a smirk.

It was then that a coyote howled, and Stiles, startled, grabbed Scott, who dropped his phone into a puddle in a large ditch. Stiles blushed as eight wolfy eyes turned toward him. “Uh… Oops?” Scott shook his head and went down to pick up the phone while, above, Stiles explained, “I hate coyotes so much. They always sound like they’re mauling some tiny, helpless little animal.”

“Tiny, helpless little animal… like you?” teased Erica.

Stiles rolled his eyes. “Great pack you’ve got here, Scott,” he grumbled.

“They’re not my pack.” Scott stooped and picked up his phone from the puddle, then wiped it off on his red hoodie. The betas exchanged nervous and uncertain glances. “They’re our friends,” Scott said, turning back to Stiles. He stressed the “our” in an unspoken warning to play nice. In return, Stiles gave him a look that said they’d started it.

“Hey, guys?” said Boyd. He slid down into the ditch next to Scott, then pointed ahead. “I think we’ve found it.”

Sure enough, a short distance up the ditch were the remains of the car wreck. “What, the _whole thing_ is still there?” Erica said, surprised.

“It would’ve been expensive to haul out,” said Stiles, climbing carefully over slick rocks with his flashlight, while the werewolves around him walked over them effortlessly. “And you don’t really need to gather evidence on things like car wrecks and coyotes.”

The betas halted just a few yards away from the site, uncertain. The SUV was a disaster. It was upside down. It was rusted. It didn’t look very secure in its position. Stiles, however, advanced with his flashlight, carefully scanning over the wreckage, Scott right behind him. “Hey, look at this,” Stiles called, hopping down the last ledge to the car. His flashlight lit upon one of the doors, where five long gashes had been cut.

Isaac joined them, Erica and Boyd behind him. He reached out, positioning his fingers along the gashes. He had to spread his fingers a bit, but not all the way. “Kind of small for a werewolf,” he said.

“Kind of big for a coyote,” Stiles countered.

Boyd crouched to look inside. “Hey, Stiles? Some light?” he called, and Stiles crouched next to him to shine the light in. Boyd reached forward and pulled out a twisted plastic doll.

“I’m hungry!” the doll chirped, and the boys immediately shouted in surprise and leapt back, Boyd dropping the doll. Erica cackled as she stepped forward to pick it up. “I think my baby cousin had one of these,” she said. “The nice baby cousin.”

“You have a mean baby cousin?” asked Scott.

“Oh, yeah, real biter,” she said.

“Rrrrrrrrrr,” said something that was not the doll.

Scott motioned for everyone to be quiet. The betas immediately tensed, crouched, and began to glow their eyes. “Do you see that?” Scott asked.

“Is it… a coyote?” asked Boyd, uncertainly. The betas began to relax again as the creature came into sight, revealing itself to be a coyote.

“What?” Stiles demanded. “What, don’t relax! It’s a coyote! Kill it! Kill it dead!”

The coyote turned and ran. For some reason, Scott took off after it without a second thought. He couldn’t explain why. He just knew. He knew he had to catch that coyote.

It raced through the forest. Scott raced after it. Darting through trees, over stumps and fallen logs, leaping across ditches and holes. It was far faster than him, knowing its territory well, but he _knew_ he had to catch it. He pushed himself as hard as he could. He allowed the strength of the werewolf, even as he felt the instincts of the alpha begin to take root. Whatever it took, he _had_ to catch that coyote.

It leapt a gorge. Without even thinking, Scott leapt it, too. He landed on his hands and knees right in front of the waiting coyote. It snarled angrily at him. He did the same thing he’d done to aggressive dogs at the clinic; he let his werewolf side slip enough to show his eyes, to show his dominance.

The coyote’s eyes changed to a bright, glowing blue.

Scott gasped. “Malia?”

The coyote took off.

“NO!” Scott shouted. “MALIA, WAIT!”

A sudden blur out of nowhere, and Erica tackled the coyote. They tumbled a couple times, then Erica pinned its throat to the floor with one hand. “Wow, that was cool,” she laughed.

Scott scrambled to his feet. “Erica, wait, that’s Malia!”

“Yeah, I know,” she said. “I heard you shouting. _Australia_ knows this is Malia.” She glared down at the coyote with her own yellow eyes. “Okay, pup, turn back, and I’ll let you go.”

The coyote snarled at her.

“Really, I promise,” said Erica. “We’re here to help you, not hurt you.”

The coyote kicked at her and attempted to bite her arm.

She glanced up at Scott. “Uh… Are you sure this is Malia?” she asked. “If I end up needing rabies shots…”

“Her eyes glowed blue,” said Scott. “Only a wereperson can do that.”

“… Killer blue?” she asked. The coyote immediately twisted wildly and growled at her.

“What?” said Scott.

“Blue-eyed betas have killed somebody, Scott,” Erica told him. “That’s what Peter said anyway. When Derek’s human girlfriend got bit and was dying from it, he killed her to end the pain. That’s why his eyes are blue.”

Scott stared at Malia. Then, he winced as the realization dawned on him. He knelt and sat down next to her. “Malia, I know what happened,” he said. “I know what happened to your family, okay? But that was an accident. It’s okay. We can help you. We just need you to turn back.”

The coyote just snarled even more angrily and tried to twist out of Erica’s grip. “Um, Scott, I think she doesn’t want to,” Erica said.

– –

“SO YOU BROUGHT HER HERE?!” Special Agent Jordan Berenson exclaimed at the five teens gathered in her borrowed office. “You brought someone trapped in the body and mindset of a wild animal into a police station?!”

“We… We thought you might know what to do,” Scott mumbled guiltily.

“Scott, do you have any idea how it _looks_ to them when I don’t call animal control?” she demanded. “A fucking… I’m an FBI agent! You want me to fix a broken werecoyote? How the hell is there even such a… Gonna… Ugh, I’ll just… call a Chee or something. Wait here.”

“That’s probably what we shoulda done, huh?” said Stiles.

“ _Probably_ ,” Jordan hissed, reaching for her phone. At that moment, a scream rang out through the station, and Scott was immediately on his feet, but Jordan motioned for him to stay back. With her hand on her gun, she cautiously went to her door and opened it. Another shriek. Confused, Jordan opened the door further, revealing a scene of confused cops and alarmed citizens and criminals. “What’s happening?” Jordan demanded of Deputy Parish, and he just shrugged, looking around.

“I think that was Graeme,” he said.

Jordan started to advance from her office, but was stopped when Deputy Graeme raced past, chasing after a coyote. Graeme dove for the coyote, but it leapt out of the way onto Parish’s desk, making him jump back in surprise and trip over his own chair. Unfortunately, that was the moment that another officer entered the station, and Malia was over the desk and out the door in a flash.

Jordan turned to glare at Stiles. “I am _this_ close to arresting you,” she snarled.


End file.
